Agent Potter
by Deledia
Summary: When Albus Dumbledore dies in the UK, in the USA everything Tony DiNozzo thought he knew is proven to be a lie. With Dumbledore's reputation shattered and his father by his side Harry Potter sets out on what will be a very different horcrux hunt.
1. Chapter 1

**Agent Potter **

Chapter One

When a witch or wizard dies any of their magic remaining in the mortal plain dies with them. That means that any wards, charms, spells, hexes, curses or enchanments a witch or wizard casts on something or someone will die out when the caster of the magic dies. It is a well known fact in the wizarding world but not one that most people choose to dwell on.

For the Potter family, though this fact will be both what tears them apart forever and makes them whole again...

* * *

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs got in to work even earlier than he usually did on Monday morning. His famous gut was churning and he didn't like it. His gut was telling him that there was something badly wrong with a member of his team and Gibbs wanted to figure out exactly what was going on.

There was no sign of anything amiss in the bullpen so Gibbs sat down at his desk, figuring that he may as well get started on his paperwork while he waited for his team to get in. About 30 minutes later Ziva arrived, followed quarter of an hour later by McGee. A call to the guards downstairs told Gibbs that Ducky, Abby and Palmer had arrived safely.

The only one missing now was his Senior Field Agent Tony.

"Where the hell are you, DiNozzo?" Gibbs growled. Tony had never been the most punctual, responsible person but his gut was telling him that this was something more than his SFA oversleeping or being hungover. Tony had made a lot of enemies over the years and if one of them had gotten hold of the agent...

"He's probably just overslept with one of slags again," Ziva said dismissively. "Nothing to worry about."

"Nothing for _us _to worry about, you mean," McGee mumbled in a voice he obviously felt was too quiet for Gibbs to hear. "Him, on the other hand...When the boss gets hold of him..."

Gibbs scowled at both of the junior agents. He'd noticed that Tony had been taking a lot of flack from both McGee and Ziva lately. The former marine hated dissension in the ranks and it pissed him off that the two junior agents were so blatantly disrespecting their senior agent but he'd wanted to give Tony a chance to deal with it himself before intervening. Tony was, after all, a fiercely independent person and he might not appreciate Gibbs barging in to his personal business and treating him like a little boy that needed to hide behind daddy.

He pushed that thought out of his mind, though. Gibbs would deal with it later. Right now he had more important things to worry about than his idiotic junior agents, with delusions of grandeur, who thought that they could do a better job of being SFA than the actual senior field agent...

"Ziva, trace DiNozzo's cellphone. McGee, check his credit cards," he barked.

The two junior agents looked distinctly unhappy about having to put themselves out, over Tony DiNozzo, of all people. They got an unexpected reprieve in the form of Director Vance, who came down the stairs from the mezzanine just in time to hear Gibbs give the order. "Actually, Agent Gibbs, that won't be necessary," Vance said briskly.

Gibbs' blood boiled. He knew full well that the director didn't like Tony. He knew that Vance had been trying to maneuver Tony out of the agency ever since he took over as director after Jen died. Gibbs was sick of it. "You don't think that a missing agent is something to get concerned about, Leon?" he growled, getting right up in the director's face.

To his credit, though Director Vance didn't so much as flinch. "A missing agent is something to worry about, yes," he conceded. "But the fact of the matter is Agent DiNozzo is not missing."

"That's funny. I don't see him at his desk where he's supposed to be," Gibbs said coldly.

"I spoke with Agent DiNozzo on Saturday morning when he phoned me, saying that he urgently needed to take a large amount of leave," Vance said. "He and I met here at the office, yesterday so he could sign the paperwork putting him on a six month sabbatical, at the end of which he may or may not return to NCIS."

Gibbs glared at the director, who couldn't quite keep the glee out of his voice at the prospect of Tony leaving the agency. "DiNozzo wouldn't do something like that, at least not without discussing it with me first," he growled. "Exactly what reason did he give you for this so-called sabbatical?"

Vance shrugged, unconcerned. "He's got more than enough leave owing to him so I didn't feel the need to ask. I got the impression that it was something to do with a family emergency, though. Believe it or not, Gibbs DiNozzo is a grown man who doesn't need you to hold his hand or give him permission to live is life."

Gibbs snorted. He knew that Vance's so-called impressions were totally off base. Tony hadn't seen or spoken to any of his maternal relatives in the UK since he was a teenager and he had only very sporadic contact with his father, who was based somewhere in New York. There was no way that Tony would turn his life upside down, practically giving up his career, for any of his so-called family. As for Vance's other supposition, that Gibbs believed he owned his agents, that was wrong as well; well, mostly wrong. Gibbs was well aware that his team were fully grown men and women, entitled to live their lives as they saw fit, but he did believe that, as team leader, he was entitled to a certain amount of, if not control then, information whenever one of his agents did something drastic.

"We'll see about that," Gibbs growled, turning back to his junior agents.

"I mean it, Gibbs," Director Vance called as he went back upstairs. "Let DiNozzo go. Agent McGee is acting Senior Field Agent, at least for the next six months. "Choose somebody new to bring onto your team as a junior agent by this time tomorrow or I'll choose someone for you."

Gibbs ignored the director. He wasn't going to bring anyone new onto his team if he could help it and, if he had to, it wouldn't be a junior agent. Gibbs didn't like training junior agents. If he had to have someone new on the team it would be someone with at least as much training as Ziva had. "Ziva, phone records. McGee, credit cards," he said shortly.

McGee looked startled. "But boss, the director said..." he began.

"Does it seem like I'm deaf, McGee?" Gibbs snarled, putting on his coat and grabbing his keys, badge and gun. "I heard what the director said as well as you both did. Now I'm telling you to check Tony's phone and credit records. I'll be at his apartment. Call me if you turn up anything interesting."

Gibbs got in his car and drove to Tony's apartment building. His bad knee burned as he went up the stairs to Tony's fourth floor apartment. Gibbs cursed the fact that the elevator in this place was never working and vowed to kill Tony if this turned out to be a practical joke or just some trivial matter.

Reaching Tony's floor, Gibbs walked towards his agent's door. Before he got there, though Gibbs ran into Mrs Langdon, one of Tony's longtime neighbors. Gibbs hadn't spent much time at Tony's these past few years - his own relationship with his SFA and onetime surrogate son had soured since his own Mexican sabbatical - but Mrs Langdon had lived next door to Tony for even longer than that, and Gibbs had spoken to her many times when he was keeping an eye on Tony while the younger man was recovering from the plague. Mrs Langdon was a widow, with no children, and positively doted on Tony. Gibbs gathered that Tony was a great favorite most of the building's elderly residents, doing shopping and basic home maintenance for them.

"Oh, Agent Gibbs!" she called, rushing over to him. "I was hoping that I'd see you. Has there been any news about Tony?"

"You've seen Tony in the last couple of days?" Gibbs inquired, straight away realizing that the old woman knew more about whatever was going on than he did.

"Yes," Mrs Langdon said sadly. "He dropped by last night to let me know that he probably wouldn't be around for quite a long time."

"Did he say where he was going?" Gibbs asked, _really _not liking the sound of that. At the same time he not a text message from McGee saying that Tony's credit card records showed he'd brought a ticket to London, England and airline records showed that the flight had taken off several hours earlier.

"He did," Mrs Langdon nodded. "He said that a relative of his in England was in trouble and needed his help. Oh, Agent Gibbs it's so sad!"

Gibbs frowned, as he tried to figure out what the hell was wrong was his senior field agent. He'd thought that Tony had sworn off dealing with his English cousins after the fiasco with his Uncle Clive's will several years earlier. "What, exactly, did he tell you?" he asked, wanting to get all the pertinent details from the older woman.

The heartbroken expression on Mrs Langdon's face showed how much she cared for Tony. Tears filled her eyes. "Agent Gibbs," she said. "Tony told me he was leaving and that he was probably never coming back!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Agent Potter **

Chapter Two

Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo sat on an airplane bound for London; except, he wasn't actually Tony. Anthony Damon DiNozzo Jr didn't actually exist. Tony, it seemed, was James Christopher Potter and James was going _home. _He hadn't used his magic for many years, though. That's why he was returning to Britain the muggle way. Presumably he could have gone to the American Ministry of Magic and sought their assistance but James hadn't wanted to risk starting an international incident by waltzing into the US Ministry (presuming he could even find it) and making all sorts of accusations about Dumbledore, who even here in America, was practically a cult figure. Things were going to be bad enough in Britain without dragging the Americans into this mess as well.

James was terrified about what he was going to find when he got back to Britain. He was 99% certain that Lily, his wife, was long gone but the fate of Harry, his son, was much less certain. Regardless, though James knew that he had to face reality. Either he would get back to Britain and be reunited with his son or he would be faced with the grim task of avenging both Lily _and _Harry.

Either way the magical world was never going to be the same again once James Potter set foot back on British soil.

* * *

Gibbs didn't hang around in the hallway long enough to hear the rest of old Mrs Langdon's explanation. He strode to the doorway of Tony's apartment and picked the lock, hoping that his SFA had left him some sort of clue about what the hell was going on. Gibbs knew that his relationship with Tony wasn't as strong as it once had been - and it hadn't been since he'd gone off to Mexico - but Gibbs couldn't believe that the younger man would just go running off to the other side of the world without letting him know what was going on.

Inside the apartment there was no sign of a struggle, nothing out of order. This brought Gibbs some measure of comfort because it meant that Tony had disappeared willingly, no matter how out of character that may seem. The only slightly strange thing was, in Tony's bedroom, Gibbs found the bed unmade and a pair of sleep pants abandoned on the floor. It was obvious that Tony had dressed and gone out in a great hurry. Gibbs also noticed his missing agent's cellphone lying abandoned on the bedside table.

Leaving the bedroom, Gibbs snatched up his own cellphone as it began to ring. It was McGee, reporting that Tony's phone records - both his cellphone and home phone - had turned up nothing but his credit records showed that he had purchased a one way ticket to London. Airline records showed that the flight had taken off several hours earlier.

"Dammit DiNozzo! What the hell are you playing at?" Gibbs growled to himself, not knowing whether he should be worried about his agent or furious with him.

Another cursory examination of the apartment told Gibbs that there was nothing more than maybe a few items of clothing missing, which actually made sense if Tony had hastily packed to go to London. It also showed that Tony _hadn't _done what Gibbs had hoped by leaving some sort of explanation about what was going on.

Well, Gibbs wasn't going to let that stand. Judging by Tony's sudden, secretive disappearance there was something badly wrong. It was a parent's job to protect their children whenever something bad happened and, while he hadn't exactly been treating Tony like it lately that's exactly what the younger man was to Gibbs: a son. Whatever was wrong with Tony and the Paddington family Gibbs was determined to help.

Even if that meant following his wayward SFA to the other side of the world.

* * *

Harry Potter was preparing to leave Hogwarts for what would be the last time. Under normal circumstances he would be coming back to the castle in September for his NEWT year but Harry was going to skip out on his last year at school in order to get started on the hunt for the horcruxes. Harry felt sick at the thought of leaving the only real home he'd ever known but, with Professor Dumbledore gone, the war was going to get even worse now and Harry couldn't afford to sit around being sentimental while innocent people were being injured and killed.

Harry was fairly certain that Professor Dumbledore had died before passing on all the information about the horcruxes. That was going to make the hunt hard enough. Things were even harder now, though because Harry was going to be hunting down the fragments of Voldemort's soul by himself.

Ron had been the first to back out of the hunt. The Golden Trio had decided within hours of Professor Dumbledore's death that they would skip their NEWT year to hunt down the horcruxes. Somehow, though when she arrived at Hogwarts for the headmaster's funeral, Mrs Weasley had caught wind of their plans. Needless to say her explosive temper had immediately boiled over. She'd expressly forbidden Ron from abandoning his education and, while she conceded that she had no real authority over Harry and Hermione, she'd 'strongly advised' them not to do something so stupid either.

Needless to say Ron, unable to stand up to the titanic force of his mother's temper, had immediately promised Harry he wouldn't tell anyone about the horcruxes but had said he couldn't go on the hunt. For a while Harry had been really angry at Mrs Weasley for babying her children so much and messing up all his plans. Then, though he'd remembered Mrs Weasley's boggart from the summer before fifth year and he hadn't been able to hold onto his anger. Mrs Weasley had lost both of her beloved brothers in the first war against Voldemort and her biggest fear was loosing one of her children in this war. _That _was why she liked to keep her children so close to her and was against Ron running off with Harry and Hermione to directly take on Voldemort.

Ron dropping out of the hunt had been a problem. Hermione doing the same thing, a short time later, had been a _catastrophe. _Hermione hated herself for making things even harder for Harry but she admitted that, not only did she not want to miss out on taking her NEWTS, she was terrified about what happen to her parents if Voldemort got wind of the fact she was on the run with Harry. She handed Harry some books about horcruxes, which she'd liberated from Professor Dumbledore's office, and said she wasn't coming on the hunt for the horcruxes. What she didn't say to Harry was that if Ron wasn't going on the hunt, her running off with Harry to look for horcruxes, would put a damper on any potential relationship she and Ron might have in the future.

Ron and Hermione had been standing by Harry's side since they were all 11 years old and Harry didn't know what he was going to do without them now. He wanted to beg his friends to stand by him just one last time but how many times over the years had Ron and Hermione been injured, on the brink of death, because of him? Without Professor Dumbledore's protection and the blood wards due to fall for the last time in just a few weeks Harry was going to be in more danger than ever before.

The existence of the prophecy meant that Harry had no choice but to continue down the dark and dangerous road that lay ahead. Ron and Hermione, though had no connection to the war other than their friendship with him. If Harry cut ties with them then hopefully Ron and Hermione would be safe. How could Harry ask them to put themselves in that much danger when they didn't need to be?

The simple truth of the matter was that he couldn't. This was Harry's war, not theirs, and he would fight it alone. Far too many people had already stood between Harry and Voldemort and had paid for it with their lives. Well, Harry wasn't going to let any more innocent people get hurt or killed because of him.

Harry had known since he was 14 years old that, chances were, he wouldn't survive this war. He'd often felt, at times, as though his life expectancy could be measured in weeks, rather than years. Even if that was true, though, even if he was going to die, Harry was determined to take Voldemort down with him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Agent Potter **

Chapter Three

After a hellish eight hour flight James finally touched down in the UK. He'd been on a plane many times during his years as Tony DiNozzo but this, by far, had to be the worst flight he'd ever taken. He'd been trapped next to a single mother, traveling with a screaming baby and a sick toddler, the whole way and, to make matters worse, they'd flown into a storm, causing a great many of the passengers to become airsick. James had never been one of those pureblood bigots who believed themselves superior to non-magicals but he was _never _flying like a muggle again. Give him a broom or a portkey any day.

Finally clearing customs, at the first available opportunity, James threw the small suitcase he'd brought with him from America into a rubbish bin. It contained his passport as Anthony DiNozzo, which he wouldn't be needing anymore, and a few changes of clothes, which he'd only brought with him because he knew the airline would be suspicious if he flew to the other side of the world without any kind of luggage. The only thing James didn't throw away was a wad of British currency, which he'd had exchanged which he was waiting for his flight to board back in America.

Striding out of the airport, James hailed a cab and and paid a driver to take him to Charring Cross Road. James was still dreading what he could possibly be about to discover but he was feeling marginally better the closer to home he got. James knew that he was taking a risk by heading to the Leaky Cauldron and, thus, Diagon Alley (especially if both Voldemort _and _Dumbledore were still running around) but the goblins were the only ones he could trust right now so he needed to get to Gringotts. James just had to hope that he'd been away from Britain long enough that nobody in the Alley would recognize him. Of course, in that case, James would also be faced with the task of convincing the goblins - a race of warriors - that he wasn't an impostor out to steal the Potter gold but James had faced much worse odds in his lifetime. At least, unlike most people, James knew that the goblins would give him a fair trial.

For once luck seemed to be on James' side. When the cabbie dropped him off on Charring Cross Road James found the Leaky Cauldron to be packed but the patrons were all pouring over copies of the Daily Prophet or crowded around the wireless. Nobody gave James so much as a second glance. James didn't stop to find out what had everybody so interested. If it was something he needed to know about he knew that the goblins would tell him later. He strode straight through the pub, luckily gaining access to Diagon Alley, even without a wand, when someone in the Alley opened the portal and went to join the crowd in the Leaky Cauldron.

James quickly made his way to Gringotts, scarcely taking note of how Diagon Alley had changed in the years that he'd been gone. He had only one goal now that he was home: find out what the hell was going on in the world and, more importantly, find his son. James knew that the goblins hated weakness so he tried to make himself seem as strong and confident as possible. Most witches and wizards thought of goblins as beasts of the worst of the kind, and treated them as such, but James' father had always taught him that goblins should be treated with respect. They basically had control of the entire wizarding economy and, as thousands of years of magical history showed, they could cause all sorts of problems if they decided to rebel. Besides, history also showed that the more respectful you were to goblins the bigger profits your investments were likely to make. Unsurprisingly, ever since James and his father had taken the time to learn gobbledygook, the goblin tongue, the Potter accounts had been _very _profitable.

"Greetings," James said in fluent gobbledygook, stepping up to speak to the nearest available teller. He couldn't help but smile at the sound of his own voice. When his true memories returned so had his British accent. His years as Tony DiNozzo hadn't been all bad but it was nice to be rediscovering his true self. James focused on the teller, praying that the Potter account manager was still the same as it had been the last time he'd done business with Gringotts. "I would like to meet with Bearclaw if he is available, please."

The teller stared at James as though he was an alien from outer space. The goblin was hyperventilating and looked as though he was on the verge of having a heart attack. The goblin wasn't one that James had done business with before so he seriously doubted that the goblin knew who he really was. The only thing that James could think of which would provoke such shock in the goblin was his use of gobbledygook. _'Ooookay,' _James thought to himself. So that was one thing that seemed to have changed in the years that he'd been gone. In James' youth human usage of the goblin tongue hadn't been overly common but, by the same token, it hadn't been so rare that it caused goblins to have heart attacks when humans _did _use it.

"D-Do you have an appointment to see Manager Bearclaw, sir?" the teller finally managed to croak, speaking in gobbledygook.

James took that as confirmation that gobbledygook really had fallen by the wayside. Except for, occasionally, account managers talking to their richest clients, goblins _never _called humans 'sir' or 'madam.' He shook his head regretfully. "I am afraid Bearclaw won't be expecting me. It is business of the utmost urgency, though. I would greatly appreciate it you would see if he can spare some time for me."

"May I tell Manager Bearclaw who is here to see him?" the teller inquired.

James, though, shook his head. At least until he knew what had become of Harry he didn't want to advertise his 'return' just yet. "I'm afraid that's information which needs to be kept between Bearclaw and myself. Suffice to say that he and I are very old friends."

"I'll just go and see if he is available," the teller said, giving James one last look of disbelief, before scurrying off in a manner totally uncharacteristic of his race.

Surprisingly, James found standing in the atrium if the bank, which nobody giving him a second glance, extremely refreshing. As one of the last members of the extremely wealthy Ancient and Nobel House of Potter, which could trace its roots back even further than Godric Gryffindor, he'd used to get lots of attention every time he stepped out in public. James had been a right little snot as a kid, lapping up all the attention. As he'd gotten older, though it had really started to grate on his nerves. War had made James cynical and he started to see many of his 'admirers' as opportunistic little shits, just trying to wrangle a galleon or two out of his coffers. Back then James had wished they would go away and leave him alone so now he found being ignored a relief. James _was _smart enough to realize that the anonymity probably wouldn't last once the wider world got wind of his return but he was sure going to enjoy it while it lasted.

After a few minutes the teller returned, giving James an even stranger look. "Manager Bearclaw says that he can spare a few moments of his time for you," he announced. "If you'd just come this way."

The teller led James through a familiar maze of corridors but didn't actually accompany him into Bearclaw's office. That, James knew, was because the desk tellers were among the most lowly ranked goblins employed by Gringotts and didn't actually have the right to sit on on meetings between managers and their clients or to go down to the vaults. As the teller left, probably returning to his post, James knocked briskly on Bearclaw's door and then entered the office without waiting for an invitation. Shutting the door behind him again, James found Bearclaw, his family's long-standing account manager and friend, standing behind his desk and glaring at him with an inscrutable expression on his face. "There aren't many humans that I would call a friend, wizard."

James smirked at that, fairly sure that Bearclaw had already figured out who he was. "And there aren't many goblins that I would call a friend, Bear," he retorted.

"Well now I know you really are who you appear to be," Bearclaw mocked. "No other humans have ever had the gall to give me a nickname."

James knew that if Bearclaw was joking around with him the goblin was positive of his identity. "How did you know who I was?" he asked. "I was sure I'd have a battle on my hands to get you to believe me."

"A goblin never forgets a face," Bearclaw said. "I knew who you claimed to be after the teller, Ironfist, described to me the man who was refusing to give his name. Then there's the fact that you are speaking my language. Few humans have ever taken the time to learn the goblin tongue. Finally there have been many advances in defensive magic since we last met. You'd have survived the atrium but, if you had attempted to enter this office or go down to the vaults, disguised the wards are such that you would have been killed immediately, James Potter."

This last statement was said with such a look of vicious glee that James was positive any intruders at Gringotts would be killed in the most brutal possible way. It wouldn't be an easy death. "Charming, Bear," he mumbled.

The glare returned to Bearclaw's face. "Now, I don't suppose you would deign to tell me why you have been presumed dead for the last 15 and a half years? Why your son believes himself to be an orphan?"

A look of hope sprang onto James' face. "Harry! He's alive?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes," Bearclaw nodded briefly. "But before I consider telling you anything more I wish to know why you saw fit to abandon him."

"It wasn't by choice, Bear," James said earnestly. "Harry became the most important part of my world the moment he was born and nothing has changed since that day."

"Then why did you leave?" Bearclaw demanded.

A glare crossed James' face as he recalled his last meeting with the old man he'd once looked upon as a second father but who he now believed to be just as evil, if not more so, as Voldemort. "It was entirely Albus Dumbledore's fault."

"I believe that you need to explain that comment, James," Bearclaw said, a surprisingly neutral expression on his face.

And so James did, his blood boiling and silently vowing to kill Albus Dumbledore if he ever saw the old bastard again.

* * *

_The last thing James Potter remembered he'd been dueling Voldemort in his own living room. He was exhausted, bleeding and in pain but he was determined to keep going, knowing that Lily and Harry would be sitting ducks if he were to fall. James was a very powerful wizard but Voldemort was even more so, meaning that James had little chance of defeating him. If he could keep this level of attack up, though James was somewhat hopeful that he'd be able to drive the bastard away. At some point, however, Voldemort must have managed to get in a lucky shot because all James remembered from that point on was a blinding light, a crippling pain and then...nothing. _

_James was fairly certain that he faded in and out of consciousness from that point on. When he woke up properly, though he found himself lying spread-eagled on some sort of wooden slab, his arms and legs bound tightly to posts at all four corners of his makeshift bed. James didn't know where he was but it certainly wasn't his little house in Godrics Hollow. James immediately began to panic. His fear wasn't for himself but, rather, for his wife and son. If he had been kidnapped then what had become of Lily and Harry? Had they been taken too or were they already dead? _

_A noise somewhere off to the side caused James to turn his head. To his relief he saw Albus Dumbledore watching him. As well as being his former headmaster, Albus had been a friend of the Potter family for many years. James had met him for the first time at six or seven years old when the man had come to join his parents for dinner. "Albus, thank god!" he panted, wincing at the jolts of pain which shot throughout his body. "Lily and Harry! We need to help them." _

_"Lily and Harry are beyond help now," Albus said, in an odd sort of voice, making no effort to help James. _

_James' world ended. "NO!" he sobbed, the pain in his body nothing compared to the pain in his soul. "Y-You m-mean they're d-dead?" _

_A small smile played about Albus' lips. "Your pathetic wife is. Your brat could go either way." _

_Even through his pain James realized that there was something seriously wrong. "A-Albus?" _

_"Oh come on," Albus scoffed. "You didn't think I was actually trying to help your ridiculous family, did you?" _

_"You said Voldemort was going to kill us," James said, staring at his mentor in horror. _

_"And I hoped that he would," the old man smirked. "You and your wife dying would be...regrettable but I couldn't allow you, or anyone else to stand between your brat and the Dark Lord." _

_"You wanted us to die!" James accused. _

_"I won't have your brat or anyone else taking my glory away from me by killing the Dark Lord!" Albus spat. _

_"This all comes back to the prophecy!" James realized in horror. _

_"It does," the old man smirked. "And now your wife is dead and cannot affect my plans. If your brat survives the night you can bet that he'll suffer an 'unfortunate accident' soon. You, on the other hand, you surviving relatively unscathed has left me with something of a quandary." _

_"You're insane!" James screamed, struggling to free himself from his bonds but failing miserably. He had a horrible feeling that they were powered by magic. "You're fucking crazy!" _

_"Maybe," Dumbledore smirked. "But I'm also more powerful than anyone. Back to my quandary, though." _

_"Fuck you, old man!" James spat. _

_"I'm very fond of you, James so I'll forgive your little outburst this time," Dumbledore said. "But I may not be so forgiving next time. Now, as I was saying I'm very fond of you, James and your parents ment a lot to me. I don't think I can quite bring myself to kill you outright." _

_"Bastard!" James spat, knowing that he wouldn't want to live on if his wife and son were dead. _

_"But by the same token I can't keep you around, either," Dumbledore continued, as though James hadn't spoken. "Don't worry, though. I'll make sure that you have a good, happy life. You just won't remember this one." _

_"You can't do that!" James shouted. _

_"Yes," Dumbledore said simply. "I can. Goodbye James. It's been nice knowing you."_

* * *

"And that's the last I remember of the magical world until I woke up with my real memories a few days ago," James told Bearclaw.

The goblin looked far more sympathetic now. "By the sound of it your memories returned at the exact moment that Albus Dumbledore died. The spells on you must have been tied to Dumbledore's life force, and ceased to exist the moment his magic could no longer power them."

James was mildly surprised to learn that Dumbledore was dead. He was actually quite happy about it, though. The only thing that bothered him was that he hadn't been the one to kill the old bastard. "You believe the truth about the wizarding world's hero rather easily."

Bearclaw sneered. "James, you know that the goblin nation have never brought into the legend of Albus Dumbledore as much as everyone else. Besides, what you say rather fits in with what we've managed to find out about the foul old man."

"Oh?" James asked warily.

"We've been trying to get hold of your son for many years," Bearclaw said. "Obviously he wouldn't have been able to access the family estates until he turned 17 but we needed his permission to make changes to your family's investment portfolio. All communications to him were overlooked, though, returned to us with no reply. Tests showed that they never reached your son, having been bounced off a mail-redirect ward. Then a few years ago we received a letter from the old man himself, saying that as Harry's magical guardian he was forbidding us to make contact with the boy. Without your son to sign off on various contracts I'm afraid the the Potter fortunes have rather suffered in the last few years."

James waved his hand uncaringly. "Money isn't important. Fortunes can be replaced. _Please! _Tell me about my son."


	4. Chapter 4

**Agent Potter **

Chapter Four

Harry Potter had never felt so alone in the world as he did the moment he stood on the pavement and watched as the Dursleys got into a cab and drove out of his life for what would probably be the last time. It was a sorry state of affairs when Harry found himself actually sad to see the back of the Dursleys but he had to admit that he would actually kind of miss them. They may consider him the 'shame' of their family but at least, however grudgingly, they acknowledged him as family. Harry had nobody else. His parents were long gone. Sirius was gone. Dumbledore was gone. Ron and Hermione had turned their backs on him. He'd also broken up with Ginny to keep her safe from Voldemort. Harry honestly hadn't expected his now ex-girlfriend to take that well but, surprisingly, she'd been cool about it. She'd admitted to him that in recent weeks her feelings for him had cooled and she'd begun to wonder whether her 'feelings' for him were just the remnants of her childhood infatuation with him. Honestly that had stung Harry quite a bit but he was mostly just glad that Ginny was safe. Of course that meant that he was totally alone in the world. Maybe it was better that way, though. Anyone close to him would be in danger from Voldemort so if he had no close ties to anyone no more innocent people would get hut because of him.

After the way they'd treated him when he was a kid Harry wouldn't exactly call the Dursleys innocent. He still wouldn't wish upon them the sort of brutal deaths Voldemort would inflict on them if he ever got his snakey hands on them, though. Luckily it seemed that, several weeks earlier, someone from the Order had written to the Dursleys, through the muggle post, impressing upon them the dangers that Voldemort posed. For once the Dursleys actually seemed to have comprehended something magical because they were taking the threat seriously. The Dursleys were finally going to live out Aunt Petunia's dream of living in Majorca. They were even taking Aunt Marge along who, still had no idea about the existence of magic, but had been informed that their family was in serious danger. They'd told nobody where they were going and, now that they had officially left to begin their new lives, Harry had just one hour to pack his belongings and vacate Number Four Privet Drive before the professional movers the Dursleys had hired moved in.

It didn't take Harry anything like an hour to get out, though. He'd done all his packing the night before and he had no desire to take a final, sentimental look around his childhood 'home' so all that was left for him to do was grab Hedwig and his trunk and leave. Before he did go, though Harry reluctantly realized that he _should _probably take a last look around the house to make sure that no magical items had been left behind. All of his things had been packed but Harry knew that Aunt Petunia and Dumbledore had been in contact over the years. He couldn't imagine that the Dursleys would take anything magical with them into their new lives, especially as they were going to be living in close proximity to the clueless Aunt Marge on a long term basis, so Harry decided that it was better safe than sorry. After all, it wouldn't do for the muggle movers to stumble upon anything magical. The horcrux hunt was going to be bad enough. Harry didn't need to be dealing with breaches of the statute of secrecy as well. His search of the house turned up nothing, though. Harry couldn't only assume that the Dursleys had burned anything Dumbledore had sent them.

From Privet Drive Harry planned to go to Grimmauld Place and stay there until his birthday in just over a month. It would be hard returning to the house he'd inherited from his godfather, knowing that Sirius was gone forever but Harry had very few options available to him. Hogwarts was closed now and if Ron and Hermione weren't going on the hunt for the horcruxes Harry couldn't go to the Burrow, not the least because the hunt couldn't be conducted under Mrs Weasley's nose. Harry knew that the Order of the Phoenix weren't going to be happy with this decision but he didn't care. Professor Dumbledore had been protecting Harry his whole life but the old man was gone now and Harry had to stand on his own two feet. With the Dursleys off to Majorca the blood protection had been rendered useless so Harry would have scores of deatheaters after him wherever he went. At least the fildieus charm at Grimmauld Place would keep all deatheaters out but one, though and while Harry didn't think he could quite match Severus Snape in a duel just yet Harry had gotten lucky before. Maybe he would get lucky again.

Kreacher was still at Hogwarts so Grimmauld Place was mostly quiet when Harry apparated onto the front doorstep. The portrait of old Mrs Black went mental the moment he stepped through the front door, though. "Filth! Mudbloods! Scum!" she screamed.

"Shut up you crazy old bat!" Harry yelled. Under normal circumstances he still would have found the woman's poisonous vitriol offensive but Harry loathed her even more now. He knew that you weren't supposed to speak or think ill of the dead but Harry would still never forgive Mrs Black, even from beyond the grave, for making Sirius' stay at Grimmauld Place even harder than it needed to be. Not willing to out up with the crazy woman's ramblings for the duration of his stay Harry pointed his wand at the portrait. "REDUCTO!"

And just like that Walburga Black's portrait was gone. Harry couldn't imagine why nobody in the Order had thought of that before. Of course, in place of the portrait, there was a large, smoking hole in the wall but Harry rather thought that Sirius would have preferred that to his hated mother's portrait.

Leaving his trunk in the hallway, Harry headed downstairs to the kitchen, after what he'd learned from Dumbledore this last year, secure in the knowledge that, even though he wasn't 17 yet, the fildieus charm would hide his use of underage wizardry from the ministry. Looking back now, Harry was actually quite angry at Mrs Weasley for not letting on about that little fact two summers earlier. The ability to use magic freely would have made 'cleaning' this dump up _so _much easier. Harry had spent enough time over the years doing chores for the Dursleys and, even though he'd been glad to be with his friends, Harry was annoyed that he'd been forced to do even more slave labor. He rather suspected that holding back that information had been Mrs Weasley's way of trying to keep them too busy to try and spy on the Order of the Phoenix. Looking back, the cynical part of Harry had to wonder whether Mrs Weasley had been trying to keep him specifically busy so he didn't have as much time to spend with Sirius.

Down in the basement kitchen, Harry flicked his wand and started a fire, hoping to warm the old mausoleum up a bit. Yes, he could use warming charms but, to be on the safe side, he didn't want to use too much magic before his birthday if he could help it. Harry realized that, as Snape still had access to the house, he should probably search the place to make sure that he didn't have an unwanted guest. As soon as possible Harry would also research spells he could put up at Grimmauld Place to make sure that Snape didn't catch him unware if the git did decide to show up.

His search of the house turned up nothing, but there were signs that Snape might already have searched the place. Harry did discover a lot of rooms he hadn't even been aware were there, though and, remembering the portrait of Phineaus Nigellus in his and Ron's old room, decided he would sleep in what seemed to have once been Sirius' bedroom. Harry wasn't sure whether it would be Professor McGonagall, or someone else, who became head of Hogwarts now that Dumbledore was gone but he didn't like the idea of whoever it was having the ability to spy on him by way of Phineaus Nigellus, who also had a portrait at Hogwarts. For that matter Harry wasn't sure how he felt about Dumbledore having had the ability to spy on him in his bedroom two years earlier.

Carting his trunk upstairs, Harry noticed an owl approaching the house so quickly opened a window. He wasn't expecting anyone to be contacting him, though so Harry took the letter from the owl with a levitation charm and opened it the same way. A bit warily he read the letter.

_Dear Mr Potter, _

_In a little over a months time you will turn 17 and come of age in the magical world. This means that on your birthday you gain access to the Potter Family Vault instead of just the personal vault you have been using thus far in your life. Before that can happen, though you need to have a meeting with your family's account manager, Bearclaw. _

_Please come to Gringotts as soon as possible and show this letter in the atrium. A teller will escort you to Manager Bearclaw. _

_Sincerely, _

_Gringotts Hereditary Entitlement Office _

Harry raised his eyebrow in surprise. He hadn't been aware that he had anything to inherit except for the vault he'd gotten on his 11th birthday and whatever Sirius had left him the previous year. By the sound of it, though he had something more coming to him. Harry would still give every last knut he had up if it meant he could have his family back but he couldn't deny that the letter made him curious. Was there just gold in this 'Potter Family Vault' or did it perhaps contain heirlooms that would give him back a little piece of the family he would never get to know? Also, who was this 'family account manager' Bearclaw? If, as the letter implied, Bearclaw was a goblin who had been looking after his finances all these years, why hadn't he contacted Harry before? Glancing at his watch, Harry saw that it wasn't even lunch time so he figured that he had plenty of time to goo to Gringotts today. Actually he _needed _to go to Gringotts. At the very least he needed to get some cash out so he could get some food.

He apparated over to Diagon Alley and walked the rest of the way to Gringotts. In short order he was shown the way to Bearclaw's office. "Thank you for coming so promptly, Mr Potter," the goblin said. "There's a lot that we need to go over."

"So your letter suggested," Harry said, slightly suspiciously. "Mr Bearclaw, sir, can I ask why I've never heard from you before?"

"That is something important that we need to discuss," Bearclaw admitted. "But it isn't the _most _important thing we need to talk about."

"And what's that?" Harry inquired.

"Your father," Bearclaw said, uncharacteristically gently for a goblin. "Mr Potter, I know that this isn't going to be easy for you to hear but you need to know. You see, recent investigations have proven to us that your father, James Christopher Potter, is still alive."


	5. Chapter 5

**Agent Potter **

Chapter Five

"I don't believe you," Harry said promptly. "There's no magic that can bring back the dead. Everybody knows that."

"That's true," Bearclaw said, still relatively kindly even though Harry had implied that he was jeopardizing his honor by lying. "No magic can bring back the dead but there is magic that can make someone who is very much alive disappear for a while. In this case your father is here today because he never died."

"Now I _know _that you're lying," Harry said angrily, furious with the goblin but still in enough control of his temper that he didn't draw his wand and curse the bastard. He already had enough problems with Voldemort. He didn't need to be starting a war with the notoriously battle-happy goblins as well. He sure as hell wouldn't trust the goblins as much after this, though and he'd be seeing about getting a new account manager as well. How dare Bearclaw lie to him like that? Harry knew that his father had been a prat as a teenager but if there was one thing that was a certainty was that James Potter had been a good father. Harry knew that his father wouldn't have abandoned him to Voldemort and the Dursleys. "My father has been dead for nearly 16 years!"

"No Harry," a soft voice said, as someone stepped out of the shadows.

Harry jumped out of his seat and backed away, on the verge of hyperventilating, from the man he was sure had to be an impostor. The man was clearly older but he was a passable copy of the James Potter he'd seen in the photo album Hagrid had given him. Sadly, though, as much as Harry wanted it to be true he knew it was impossible. Like his mother, Harry's father was gone and not coming back. "You stay away from me!"

The man shook his head. "I'm sorry Harry but I can't do that. You're my son and I've already missed out on so much of your life. I won't miss out on any more."

* * *

James stood in the shadows and watched as Bearclaw talked with his son. He'd been breathless ever since this young _man _that so strongly resembled himself had walked in. The last time James had seen his son Harry had been a baby, barely able to walk and 'mama' 'dada' and 'Pafoo' being about the extent of his vocabulary. Now Harry was nearly 17 years old, practically a man, and James didn't know how to handle the situation. He decided that he _had _to intervene, though when Harry started yelling at Bearclaw. James knew that his goblin friend was a tolerant kind of guy but everyone had their limits. It was obvious that Harry knew nothing of their family's history with the Claw clan and he didn't want his son to unknowingly start a feud that would affect, not only them, but their ancestors as well.

His heart constricted in his chest as Harry yelled that his father had been dead for nearly 16 years. James hadn't had a _bad _relationship with his own father per-say but Charlus Potter had already been quite old when his only child was born so James missed out on a lot of the father-son experiences that most took foregranted. James had had so many plans when Harry was born; so many things that he wanted to teach his son and for them to experience together, things that he hadn't been able to do with his own father. It killed James that he'd missed out on doing these things with Harry as well.

"No Harry," he said, stepping out of the shadows as his son clearly wrestled to maintain control of his temper.

"You stay away from me!" Harry exclaimed, shying away from him with an expression on his face that broke James' heart. The expression was disturbingly similar to how Padfoot had looked at his parents whenever he saw them at Platform Nine and Three Quarters after he ran away from home.

James shook his head, though; shaking off his melancholy. Harry may not trust him now but they were both alive. That was the important thing. As long as they both stayed that way there would be time enough for them to build the sort of relationship they should have had all along later. "I'm sorry Harry," he said. "But I can't do that. You're my son and I've already missed out on so much of your life. I won't miss out on any more."

Harry eyed his so-called father suspiciously, not sure what to think or feel. It would be _great _if this man was his dad - it was everything Harry had longed for since he was a child - but he just didn't see how it could be possible. From the handful of history of magic lessons Harry had actually paid attention to he knew that the goblins had killed witches and wizards for _much _lesser offenses than impersonating customers so he doubted they would be having this meeting on Gringotts soil if the goblins weren't 100% convinced this man was his father. Harry still needed more, though. If this _was _his dad then a shit storm of astronomical proportions was going to be unleashed and Harry needed proof before he accepted such a possibility. "Prove you are who you say you are."

Harry saw his supposed father glance over at Bearclaw. The goblin nodded. "My superiors and I have already considered this possibility, James and we are prepared to offer you a 30 minute exemption to the wand ban at Gringotts. If you feel the need you can use magic in this time to give your son the proof he needs."

"Thank you," James said, whipping out the wand he'd found in one of the Potter vaults. He and Harry would need to have a _long _conversation sometime soon but right now the most important thing was proving his identity to his son. "I hereby swear upon my life and magic that I am James Christopher Potter and that I did not willingly abandon my son, Harry James Potter. So mote it be."

Harry cried out and stumbled backwards as the man - his _father's _- vow took hold. After the way he'd been trapped into participating in the Triwizard Tournament Harry didn't have much faith in 'binding' magical contracts but he knew from research he'd done during fourth year that magical oaths and vows were different. You literally staked your life and/or magic on your truthfulness. As shocking as it was, given that the man was still upright and breathing, Harry had no choice but to believe that this was his father. "Oh my god!"

James could see that he was starting to get through to his son. "Harry please believe me when I say I never would have left you if I'd had a choice in the matter. I came back as soon as I was free from the spells that _bastard _put on me and I realized that you were still alive. I _never _would have abandoned you willingly."

Harry did believe him. The vow left absolutely no room for James to lie. He just didn't know what to do now, though. Harry had wanted a father for as long as he could remember but now that, apparently, he had one Harry had no idea how to go about building a relationship with the man. "What bastard are you talking about?" Harry asked, assuming the answer to be Voldemort but needing to stall for time.

James winced, knowing that this could go very, very wrong. Bearclaw had forewarned him that, in the wizarding world, Harry had a reputation as being 'Dumbledore's man through and through.' James knew that Padfoot was dead and Moony had played almost no part in Harry's life. After growing up with Lily's foul relatives James had a horrible feeling that Harry had grown to see his 'kindly' old headmaster as his only real family, something which he suspected may have been Dumbledore's intention all along. How was he going to tell his son, who he'd only just been reunited with, that the 'hero' of the wizarding world was actually a no-good bastard who was nearly as bad as Voldemort? "Yeah, buddy, we should probably talk about that," he said awkwardly.

"Tell me," Harry said, really hoping that his father wasn't going to act like all the other adults in his life and start keeping secrets from him 'for his own good.'

"Are you sure you want to know?" James asked seriously, wanting to protect his son from the knowledge but knowing that, after being absent from most of Harry's life, he couldn't waltz in and start dictating his son's life. Harry would, after all, be of age in just a few weeks. "You _really _aren't going to like it."

Harry appreciated the fact that his father was giving him a choice. It was something that almost nobody had ever done for him before. Judging by the way his father was acting Voldemort _wasn't _the one responsible for their separation and the true identity of the bastard was going to hurt him _badly. _Harry had a lot of problems at the moment and he was reticent to create any more for himself but he knew that if he was ever going to end the war he was going to have to get used to dealing with information that was unpalatable to him. For that matter if he wanted to be treated like the adult he considered himself to be he was going to have to get used to doing and hearing about things that didn't necessarily make him happy. "I want to know," he said firmly.

"Okay," James sighed, having hoped for a different answer but expected this one. After all, if his and Harry's positions were reversed he would have wanted to know and Bearclaw had said that he and his son were _very _alike. "I'm really sorry, buddy, but it was Dumbledore. It was Dumbledore who ruined both our lives."


End file.
